


Just a Fair Warning

by E_J_Morgan



Series: Q-niverse AU [16]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Banter, Gen, Humor, Protectiveness, Q is a Holmes, Teenage!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_J_Morgan/pseuds/E_J_Morgan
Summary: Q-niverse AU - Nobody messes with their little brother. Ever. If someone tries it anyway, they'll have to answer to Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, at least that was the general idea when they kidnapped a certain Double-O. The problem: said little brother doesn't want to be protected and doesn't approve of his big brothers' methods.





	

James should have seen it coming. No, really. Actually, he had been sort of expecting something like that to happen ever since Q’s birthday party the evening before where he had learnt just who the boy really was, and what kind of a family he had. No wonder he had wanted to keep it secret. Dangerous psychopaths, both of them, no matter what his old friend and army companion, John Watson, said about it. Everyone knew the Holmes brothers were both _mental_. James himself hadn’t really come to terms yet with the findings. How could a sweetly innocent natured boy like Q be related to monsters like that?

 

He had still been grumping when Anthea had finally let him out of the limousine he had been invited (more like forced) to get in just around quarter of an hour ago, while he had been walking on the street, unsuspecting, oblivious to the lurking evil. Not something a Double-O should be proud of but to his defense: the Holmes method of kidnapping people was _creepy_. No surprise there; it suited the men perfectly.

 

During the whole ride, Anthea (Mycroft Holmes’ assistant, that much he knew from the party) had completely ignored him, save for a cheerful “good morning!” greeting when the driver (= probably an even more vigorous assassin than he himself was) had shoved him into the car like a sack of potatoes without further explanation. Other than that, she had been staring intently at her cell phone, sometimes writing something on it, refusing to answer any of his questions or react to his threats and insults in any way. (“Just what do you think you are doing? I’m an agent with a license to kill for God’s sake, you don’t kidnap me! Where are you taking me? I’m going to file an official complaint against you for this treatment and against your boss as well! Just because he’s literally the British Government, it doesn’t mean he’s allowed to do everything he wants with other people! Would you just _say_ something?”)

 

Right now, he was standing in a place that looked suspiciously like an abandoned warehouse: cold and dump, dimly lit with water dripping from somewhere above, hitting the dusty floor in regular intervals, giving an irritating ‘drop-drop’ sound that was already starting to make his head hurt. James desperately tried not to think about the fact that most horror movies played in locations like that. Anthea stood beside him completely calm, still engrossed in her cell phone. She behaved as if this were the most natural scenario for her. Thinking about it: it probably _was_. Spending time with Mycroft Holmes would likely make anyone immune against… well: everything.

 

Fortunately – or unfortunately? – they didn’t have to wait long: just as James was already starting to expect an assassination attempt any minute from behind, Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes themselves could be seen nearing towards them with deliberate strides. Mycroft Holmes held himself with royal elegance, broadcasting a kind of authoritative air that could never be taught: you either had it or didn’t have it by birth. Sherlock Holmes on the other hand moved with a catlike posture, long and thin limbs seemingly at least one step ahead of the rest of him. Both looked solemn and strict. They had nothing of Q’s charm and naturally friendly appearance. He wondered for the hundredth time how these two could be related to _their_ Q!? Surely, there must be a mistake. Maybe he had been adopted? That would explain a lot.

 

“Thank you, Anthea, you may go and wait outside.” – Instructed her Mycroft upon which the woman exited the building, not even looking up from the phone and still not walking into any of the trash that dominated the premises. James found it unfair that someone should be that competent in navigating half-blind when he himself had tripped two times over some litter or another while walking in.

 

As soon as the three of them were left alone, Sherlock spoke up, seemingly not being able to contain himself any longer.

 

“I don’t like you.” – He declared simply, as if it explained everything. And for him it presumably did.

 

Mycroft just rolled his eyes.

 

“Forgive my brother’s bluntness, Mr. Bond, he has a way of starting conversations in an _in medias res_ manner.” – He didn’t sound apologetic at all. Ignoring Sherlock’s indignant ‘why beat around the bush?’, he continued. – “Though I must admit, we do have some… _reservations_ about your friendship with Benedict.”

 

“Meaning that we strongly disapprove of it.”

 

“Well, while ‘disapprove’ might be a slightly harsher word than what I myself would have used; in reality, Mr. Bond: we’re not sure you have a good influence on our little brother.”

 

James could feel his anger rising.

 

“And just why would you think I’m a bad influence? I’ve never given him alcohol, drugs or invited him to smoke. I don’t take him to clubs or out into the night. I make him eat and sleep as much as possible. I don’t do anything to harm him at all!”

 

Sherlock snorted.

 

“ _Agent 007_ , do you think we’re stupid? We had our young teenage brother, not three weeks ago, gravely ill for days because he had been beating himself up about an argument he’d had with you during which you had hurt him immensely by being an obnoxious, insufferable, great---”

 

“Sherlock!” – Warned Mycroft. – “It’s quite enough, I think he gets it.”

 

James did indeed understand and was quick to jump to his own defense.

 

“It was just a small dispute. We have already sorted it out. He knows now that Madeleine didn’t mean what she had said. And that I believe him.”

 

“I _small dispute_ where you mocked him about his deepest, most secret fear.” – Pointed out Mycroft. – “Nobody’s talking about your girlfriend; I know very well they’re all right now. The other thing though… You might have _sorted it out_ as you call it, but make no mistake: we don’t forgive and forget as easily as our too sweet-hearted little brother. Now that we finally know about his life and the company he keeps, you won’t get away as easily with---“

 

He was interrupted by his phone signaling the arrival of an SMS. Both Holmes men held their breaths as the oldest checked the message. They shared a meaningful look with each other before Mycroft slid the traitorous device back into his pocket and hastily concluded:

 

“As I was saying: we’ll be keeping an eye on you in the future. No funny business.”

 

James was stunned at the change of tone and the sudden interruption of the tirade he had been anticipating.

 

Sherlock apparently too, because he took over the verbal abuse with much more stamina this time.

 

“Do you even have an idea why he is afraid of flying? Do you know what your taunting did to him? Can you---“ – At that precise moment, Sherlock’s phone chimed with the arrival of an SMS. He ignored it and went on. – “Can you imagine how he’s feeling about it ever since? Do you---“

 

Sherlock’s phone chimed again. He swore in a colorful language that would have made even a sailor blush and had left James’ ears ringing, and checked the messages. He looked at Mycroft and sighed.

 

“Damn, he’s good.” – Said the oldest Holmes. – “Anyway, you should think before talking because words can have bitter consequences, Mr. Bond. Especially on sensitive people, like unfortunately our Benedict who for some reason finds it important what others think about him, even if he won’t admit it. I don’t know why though… Well, you might not have intended it---“

 

“I didn’t!”

 

“—but it doesn’t change the fact that you caused more pain than you could imagine. We can’t have that. We’re talking about a teenager of whom it’s expected to some extent to have mood swings and some periods of depression but the way he is like now is anything but normal. And while I won’t say you’re even important enough to have caused it alone---“

 

“Why, thank you for your kind---“

 

“—you certainly have a not negligible role in it. So, I suggest you try to right it with a little bit more effort than just a few apologetic words.”

 

Of course, Sherlock felt he needed to give an insight as well.

 

“Or if you’re unable to do it then it may be better if you just don’t do anything at all. But if you dare hurt him ever again then you’ll find that not only Double-Os can be lethal and---“

 

“What a lovely gathering you have here, guys!” – Came a cheerful exclamation from the entrance.

 

All three of them turned to the newcomer as Q walked up towards them to stand beside James and faced his brothers with a wide smile that looked just a little bit patronizing.

 

“Benedict! What are you doing here?”

 

“I thought I’d join the party, Sherlock. You seem to be having a great time; I don’t see why you’d want to leave me out of the fun.” – Shrugged Q innocently as if a family gathering in an abandoned warehouse were an everyday occurrence. – “Is it a continuation from yesterday? Should we call Doctor Watson and the others as well?”

 

“You know very well why we’re here, Benedict. You’ve made it quite clear in your devious SMS’, haven’t you?” – Gave up the pretense Mycroft.

 

“Well, yes, I might have an idea; that’s true.”

 

“How did you know about this?” – Asked Sherlock, gesturing around and at James. – “I thought we have been discreet enough.”

 

“You should learn, brother dear, that I have my eyes and ears everywhere.”

 

“Oh, my God, Mycroft, he’s starting to sound just like you!” – Shuddered Sherlock, shaking his head desperately. – “Tell your brother to stop it!”

 

“I thought you were his brother as well.”

 

“When he’s being like that, he’s only yours.”

 

Q just beamed at them. Mycroft sighed as if saying to himself he wouldn’t think of claiming any of them as his family at that precise moment.

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. This event was turning out to be something entirely different than what he had planned for the day. And he was absolutely not used to others than himself being in charge. How and when had that happened?

 

“I think he might have picked up some things from you as well, Sherlock. Finding us would have taken some serious deducing. Didn’t it, Benedict?”

 

Q’s cheerful attitude hadn’t disappeared.

 

“I suppose.”

 

James looked between the three brothers feeling totally left out and confused.

 

“I don’t understand anything…”

 

It was Q who eventually took pity on him. He turned towards James with feigned mild surprise as if he had just registered his presence for anything more but only a part of the set.

 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re going anyway: you need to shoot a few rounds with your new Walther to get the feel of it. I made some modifications to it after the incident last week. You know the one we’re not talking about.” – He said with a meaningful glare then turned back towards his two older brothers. He continued. – “It was great seeing you guys again this soon. We should do this more often! By the way: the kittens are the best: they’re the cutest things ever! Tomorrow, Sherlock! Bye!

 

With that he grabbed James by the arm and the both of them walked out, leaving Mycroft and Sherlock standing there with their mouths agape. Had they been really outsmarted by their much younger little brother (again)?

 

“What’s tomorrow, Sherlock?” – Asked Mycroft, totally confused.

 

“Don’t even mention it!” – And the middle brother stomped out angrily as well.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

It took a two-blocks-walk for James to find his voice after everything that had happened.

 

“What was that all about, Q?”

 

“Oh, just my brothers being themselves. Nothing to worry about.”

 

“They said something about me having hurt you deeper than I can imagine with the comment about your fear of flying. And it having consequences.”

 

“They’re just being morons, and haven’t learnt that I am capable to fight my own battles. It’s not worth mentioning.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

They got on the subway that would take them back to Vauxhall, James having protested against getting into Mycroft’s limousine with the ‘droid of a woman’ in it, complaining:

 

“I swear, she didn’t even so much as _blink_! She can’t be human!” – He shuddered. – “That’s just unnatural!” – And then he finally asked the question that had been burning on his mind ever since Sherlock had mentioned it. – “And will you tell me why you’re afraid? They suggested you have a good reason for it.”

 

“No, I won’t. At least not now. Maybe not ever. I don’t know.”

 

“So, you do have a reason? It’s not just a general fear.”

 

“Is it ever?”

 

The teenager was nearly trampled on by a man three times his weight in the crowd and lost his handrail to a particularly fierce elderly woman who was noticeably offended by not having been offered a seat and wanted to take revenge on the weakest person she could find in her vicinity: namely the tiny Q.

 

James grabbed the boy by his left arm and held on strongly to protect him from further attacks in the train. He again had to realize how small and vulnerable the seventeen-year-old was and his heart squeezed painfully at the thought that the brothers could be right and he might have hurt him with his words more than he had ever intended to do.

 

“Don’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

 

Q had to think about it for a moment. He had decided after their argument to rather be honest from the very first minute about things like that. Trying to play it nice and shelter the other from being insulted or hurt hadn’t done him any good in the past after all.

 

“To tell you the truth, I don’t. Not right now, anyway.”

 

James stared as if he had been slapped hard.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, I’m sorry but I know now what you think about my fear. That it’s childish. It’s okay. But---“

 

“I told you I didn’t think about it, I just said---“

 

“YES! That’s exactly it. Don’t you see?”

 

“No. Would you care to enlighten me?” – At the same time, he pulled the boy closer to his chest so he wouldn’t fly away with the vicious braking the subway was just doing. He was so light he could have ended up in the far end of the carriage.

 

“You were angry and didn’t think. You just said the first thing that came into your mind without caring about the consequences. Right?”

 

James narrowed his eyes, feeling suspicious about this line of questioning. However unbelievable: Q was a Holmes. A Holmes always had an ulterior motive to anything he asked. That was common knowledge.

 

“Is that a tricky question?”

 

“Just answer it.”

 

“Yes, I guess it’s right.”

 

“Exactly my point then: in a situation like that, whatever comes out is always the honest truth. Because you had neither the time nor the right mind to come up with a sugar-coated lie to spare my feelings.”

 

James sighed sadly.

 

“It’s not that simple, Q. I have said it already but I’ll say it again a thousand times if that’s what it takes: I am honestly very sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

 

“That I know.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Of course. You didn’t want to hurt me; only that, at that time, you didn’t want to _not_ hurt me either if you understand what I mean. Aaaa, whatever. Forget it.”

 

“No. I am most definitely NOT going to forget it. I’m going to prove to you that I’m serious. I’m going to earn your trust back, I promise.”

 

“All right, I’ll hold you to that. But can we just skip the topic for now, please?”

 

“Agreed, if that’s what you want. So, those morons you call brothers---“

 

“Don’t you dare call them that!” – He wrenched his arms away from James’ hold and got out at their stop, starting to walk towards the escalator. He was pushed to the side by a teenager who was probably his age but twice his size. He would have fallen into the wall, hadn’t Bond grabbed him and led him to the moving staircase, shielding him from harm.

 

“You just called them that not long ago.”

 

“It’s different; they’re _my_ brothers, therefore _my morons_. Only I get to insult them. Nobody else gets away with it.”

 

“All right, you’ve got a point. I wanted to say they’re very protective of you. You seem to be equally as protective of them.”

 

“That’s how we are.”

 

“Do you think they’d really hunt me down though…? They just said it to scare me, right? I mean: I am a Double-O…”

 

“Oh, make no mistake: they would hunt and kill anyone – even a Double-O – who they thought wanted to hurt me.”

 

James gulped.

 

“That’s good. I’m glad you have a family who loves you.” – He sounded nearly sincere.

 

They arrived to Headquarters and entered the building, where Q was – despite his thin built and lack of physical strength to fight his way through the multitude of people – in complete safety.

 

“Well. We are the Holmes brothers.” – Was all he answered to that before entering Q-Branch’s shooting range and handing James his new, modified Walther.

 

Bond aimed with the gun, muttering “Well, no doubt about _that_.” to himself.

 

“In reality, we don’t even need weapons to kill someone. There are many other ways; a few that, I’m sure, even Double-Os don’t know about. Yes, I think we would use very creative methods to protect each other. Slow, painful death to anyone who dared look the wrong way at either of us…” – Mused the boy absent mindedly to himself.

 

Bond gasped at the cold declaration just as he shot the first bullet. He missed the target completely.


End file.
